Young Turks
by yellow-eyebrows
Summary: R/Hr face their insecurities together, nostalgia, scenes of intimacy ensue. I own nothing, JK OWNS HP. Probably first of a non-chronological series detailing R/Hr's life after the war, but we'll see about that.


"'Mione?" Ron's deep voice blended into the thump of the door slamming shut. I gave a nonchalant reply, just to let him know I'm in the bedroom. "Right, I'm getting some food, d'you want anything?" he hollered as the bottles in the refrigerator shook, clinking as they shuddered in sync. Again, I said no and resumed my work after this mild interruption.

Outside, the rain beat mercilessly against the windows. The windows trembled timidly against the howling winds. Even the low light in my room flickered in fear of being extinguished by the ferocity outside. If anyone were to peep through the window, they would have noticed no difference between the weather and my bedroom. Papers were strewn all over the blankets and I was a wreck. There were loopholes in the new legislation (the welfare and safety of housewives is partly the responsibility of the wizarding community, that is, if a wizard or witch witnesses a house elf about to throw itself off a cliff as an act of punishment, he or she is obligated to stop that poor elf from falling to his death) that needed urgent attention. I usually delegated meagre work like editing or scrutinizing proposals, but doing this brought me back to the days of SPEW, badges and woolly bladders. Blinking my eyes shut, I took off my tortoise-shell rimmed glasses and set them aside. I rubbed my eyes roughly, till my vision blurred when I opened them again.

After a few moments, Ron appeared at the doorway, balancing a plate of sandwiches on his arm and carrying a bag of crisps (ever since I introduced him to Muggle crisps, he's been addicted), in his all Auror glory. He was drenched to the bone, sopping and dripping with rainwater and sweat. From what I remembered, he went out of the house in a grey coat, white shirt and khaki pants. Everything he wore now just looked black, grey and brown, not to mention the amount of random mud splats on his pants.

"Ron, don't come over here," I warned when he instinctively moved toward me, "not before you clean up."

"It's alright!" he said, grinning, "I charmed the sludge to clean up itself if it touches the floor."

"Then why's there still a trail of water behind you?"

He looked back slowly, as though afraid to move and let a low groan. "Oh, right. Sorry. I'll clean it up." He attempted to reach into his pocket for his wand, but his arms were already so full of food and bags that any more movement would inevitably end in more mess that I had to clean up when he retired to bed.

"Ronald, don't move." Oh dear, my second warning of the night, I really am getting a bit too old, and Ron a bit too young. "I'll do it. Just stand still."

I got out from under the covers slowly lest I had to organize my notes again. I tiptoed across the room, avoiding the spread of papers before me. He stood absolutely still when I brushed past him, with his head tilted up to face the heavens. I whipped out my wand from my pajama bottom pocket and whispered, "Tergeo!" After siphoning the water from the floor, I turned to Ron and pecked a small kiss on his chiseled cheek. "C'mon, let's get you out of these clothes." I took his plate of food and bags and left them on the study table.

"Sorry about that, by the way," he mumbled, peeling off his coat, "Harry taught me the spell, might have mucked it up." He pulled his maroon jumper over his head, revealing his pale torso. Then he proceeded to yank off his soaked pants. "Are the kids asleep?"

"Yes," I muttered, picking up his clothes from the floor. They reeked. "They're a little tired from the trip home. Hugo just can't get enough of Hogwarts. You should ask him about school, he loves to talk about it so much. Honestly, he reminds me of you."

"Heh, like how I used to brag about Quidditch? How I dived fifty feet and seven inches to save a goal while prancing around like a big ginger prat?"

"Rosie's going through a phase. Don't be surprise if she ignores you during breakfast tomorrow."

Ron chuckled to himself, kneeling on the floor. "Let me take those. You should get back to your work."

"It's alright, Ron. I can finish it tomorrow." What a lie. He could feel me avoiding his eyes, treating his clothes like some important task I had to complete.

"All that - " His arm waved vaguely at the mess of papers, "better be cleared by the time I'm done with the laundry."

"Sure?"

"Mmmmm," Ron teased reluctance, "alright, before I actually change my mind, go on, please, don't come out of the room until you're done with - " He waved his arm again.

"You're very sweet, Ron," I said, rewarding him with another peck on his cheek, this time, lingering a little longer on his jawline. My tongue seemed to have taken a life of its own. I licked the salty sweat, mixed with rainwater on his chin, then traveling north to meet his lips. He broke off, placing smaller kisses on my chin, cheek, nose, all over, as if apologizing for breaking the initial snog.

"Maybe later you'll taste the real thing," he breathed in between kisses, now attaching his lips to my earlobe. I swatted his arm for his cheek and returned to bed.

"I keep fucking things up nowadays," he muttered, smiling to himself shyly. He looked down at his orange and brown socks which clashed horribly with his pale complexion.

"Your self-deprecating… um, self is still very very attractive," I said as I pulled the covers back carefully. "Plus, you haven't mucked things up with me."

"Ha ha." I climbed into bed and slipped under the covers.

"You'll be sleeping in the shed if you don't clean yourself up," I ordered. Perhaps over the years, Ron had developed some sort of resistance to my demands, I concluded it was impertinence or probably just him acting cute enough to earn a kiss. When I looked up, I realized he was staring at me. His expression was familiar, warm, tender, as if transported back to his seventeen year old self, full of anticipation, so close, expecting to touch my lips, instead receiving several blows to his stomach. Even with a few wrinkles added to his chiseled and worn face, he still possessed that boyish charm, oh, not to mention a burgeoning tummy. But in any case, my work demanded long hours which also meant short lunches, loads of stress, which also meant, to roughly quote the words of my sister-in-law, I was good looking enough for the both of us.

"Ron!"

"Nothing," he chuckled, "just admiring."

"Go. Quickly. Alright?"

"Why, can't wait to finish what you started?"

"Maybe. You'll have to come back soon to find out."

He took once last glance and ducked out of the room. I could hear his footsteps thump down the staircase with lightning speed. I shook my head lightly, and sighed at paper after paper. Even sighing at papers, hoping they would go away and magic themselves read and edited, was exhausting. Thankfully, I was blessed with a gift, or sometimes Ron labelled it a hindrance, since he found my moments rather annoying, of perseverance. Not perseverance, no, stubbornness.

I had to finish this, so much so that I totally didn't realize Ron slipping into the room, into bed with me, without any disturbance. Unfortunately, I was only halfway done by the time I found out he was in bed, snuggling up to me.

"'Mione," he hummed into my side. He wrapped his arm around waist and ran his finger up and down my ribcage.

"Yes, Ronald?" I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, all the while, focusing on paragraph 4a, "what constitutes as house elf self-harm and what did not."

"You shouldn't wear glasses, you know that? You look a lot sexier without them."

"You mean I look a lot nerdier with them on. Plus, I only wear them at home. And home isn't a place to look all poshed up."

"Hmmm, when will you be done?"

"Not any time soon. Weren't we talking about my glasses? I'm keeping them on even if you don't like them."

"How're the kids?" I was also blessed with the gift of multi-tasking. Hogwarts taught me a couple of handy skills, one of which was how to finish homework while simultaneously swatting away flies, Ron and Harry, that insist on buzzing me to help them with their own homework.

"Hugo's doing fine, he's bent on making the Quidditch team next year though. He asked for you this morning. Told him you were off slaying demons and Death Eaters. Keeping us safe. Making us proud. That's alright, isn't it?"

"Yeah, you said he's becoming me."

"I wasn't joking about that."

"Rosie?"

"She's going through a phase. Imagine fourth year, Yule Ball." I purposefully scratched out a long sentence that needed serious re-phrasing and re-thinking.

"Merlin," Ron mumbled. He peeked out of the covers. "That was ages ago, Hermione."

"Of course I've gotten over it, ever since I first kissed you. But Rosie hasn't."

"I'm sure the bloke who's treating her this way - "

"Treating her like a boy, I suppose."

"Treating her like a boy, hey, I didn't treat you like a boy."

"Yes, you did."

"Like hell I did."

He sat up beside me so that our shoulders touched.

"You know I'm just playing around with you."

"Yeah, but Rosie… I don't want her going through the same shit I put you through."

I put my pen down and took off my glasses. "It was so long ago, Ron. I'm with you now and have been with you since I was eighteen. But I've probably liked you since our second year. The way you stood up for me, like a boy doomed to be puking slugs for the entire day. I knew the looks you gave me, even when we were bickering like we were already married or something, I always knew we would end up together. I want Rose to have what I have."

"'Mione, I - "

"Ron, I love you so much. Don't forget that."

"I love you too, Hermione." He gazed at me. His face was even more wrinkly up close. His freckles were fading, but still concentrated, his nose, cheeks and forehead. I wanted to lean in and kiss every single freckle on his body before they disappeared completely. He reached out to stroke my cheek.

"Ronnie, your arms are skinny."

"I'm tired, 'Mione."

"Get some rest, I'll be up a little longer."

"Mind if I hug you to sleep?"

"If that's what you want, then…"

He trailed a featherlight journey from my cheek down my neck, past my collarbone (some flirting there) and my breasts (even more flirting there), finally resting on my belly. He pulled me closer into an embrace as I put my right arm around him.

I sighed content and continued reading line after line after line after line…

The air was cool when I stirred awake. I opened my eyes to find out it was still dark. The rain had already reduced to a light drizzle. My arms were aching pretty bad and my head hurt. I tried to shift my position on the bed, but Hermione was resting her head on top of mine. I looked down and saw the same pile of papers all over the bed, they didn't seem to have disappeared over the night.

"'Mione," I whispered. She didn't move. I squeezed her gently. She didn't budge.

"I'm awake, Ron."

I jolted upright, accidentally knocking my head against hers.

"Careful," she groaned, rubbing the side of her head. I leant back on the headboard and kissed her temples. In return, she kissed my neck. "I couldn't sleep."

"Yeah, I figured."

"Hold on, let me clear my things."

She took her wand from the bedside drawer and waved it. The papers stacked themselves neatly on the table, some into folders and the rest in the drawer. Once she finished keeping them away, she turned to me.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Yeah you might've mentioned that."

"I've been thinking."

"About what? Work?"

"Oh no, already done. I was thinking about us."

"Us?"

"Yes. I thought about you, about Hugo, Rose, thought about us being together."

"Hermione - "

"I just thought about now, this stage of my life, I - I'm - "

She seemed lost, confused. I put my arm around her and she eased herself against my chest.

"I don't know, Ron, I don't know how to keep you with me forever. It sounds so childish and stupid and so unlike me, I just don't know. I'm so afraid, Ron, scared of losing you, absolutely terrified you might die, abandoning me and the children. What am I suppose to do? Where did all this sentimentality, this silly mid-life crisis come about? I'm not like this Ron, am I?"

"Shh, it's alright," I whispered, stroking her hair. "Just relax."

"Ron, I can't relax! Every time you do this, I can't seem to get enough of you."

"I can't get enough of myself either."

"Don't kid around," she sniffed. Her voice was shaky and cogged up.

"But you love it, don't you."

"Always." She straddled me, placing both her hands on my face, she cradled my face in her chest. I kissed her collarbone lightly, up her neck, finally capturing her lips with mine. Aggressive, maybe possessive in the way her tongue slithered into my mouth, tickling my palette, swiping at mine.

"Oh God, Ron," she breathed, pulling me even closer. She tugged at the thinning strands of greying hair on my head. "Please."

"Hermione," I sighed breathlessly and broke off. Hell, she was a good snog. "If you keep pulling my hair, you're not going to make me look any younger." Even though our lips were not glued together, she kept her hands in my hair.

"You should keep it longer," she whispered, chest heaving. "It's really short. Maybe like how it was when we were seventeen." She tried to twirl a lock of hair with her finger, only to fail miserably. "I used to be able to do that."

"I guess so," I said, taking her hand and resting it on my chest.

She traced and kissed each scar, every groove, ridge, she licked, sucked, loved. "Merlin, you're gorgeous."

Every kiss, her breath against my skin, her hair tickling my torso, her fingertips, like static electricity, her breasts crushed against my belly, everything about her revived my limp dick. Christ, I could go on with all the things I wanted to do to her at that point in time. She brought out this carnal energy in me, only she could do it. Hermione was probably the only girl that I'd ever been with, like in a proper relationship. She was the only one who could arouse this sensation. That was something I hadn't felt in ages. With Hermione, the world of possibilities, the endlessness, all eternity could be devoted to this one woman. My impulsive teenage self was beginning to take over me, some reckless boy, hoping for love in the wrong people, abandoning, hurting those who I'd loved from the very start. I was suddenly incredibly lucid around her, possessive maybe. I couldn't point my finger on the cause, but I could stick it up the sweetest spot.

I reached down and pulled her up, roughly grabbed her shoulders and threw her on the bed next to me. I covered her body with mine, easing myself comfortably between her legs. She already had her hands beneath my flimsy, worn out shirt, just waiting to rip it to shreds, roaming around the contours of my muscles. My dick started throbbing immensely, twitching to come, I knew I needed a quick release.

"Hermione," I groaned, grinding my cock against the warm apex of her legs. My belly hung shamelessly, I didn't bother, neither did she. She looked at me, darkly, and reached for my boxers. She pulled them off slowly, making sure the waistband didn't interfere with my erection. I kicked my boxers off and focused on her face.

She always had an expression of determination, it was sexy. Merlin, I couldn't wait to enter her, sink myself in her, fill her desire. Damn, she took her time with her panties. Over the years, she developed the ability to smile coyly, she didn't do it to anyone else but me, and somehow thinking of this made me rub myself against her wet centre even faster. I could come just like that, but I held it in. My butt was already vibrating with need and want from smoothing my cock against her. My balls were becoming sore from all the tension in my genitals. Oh God, the friction, fucking friction between her tender pink pussy lips, wet, hot, sticky, sweet and slick, I could really come there and then.

"Ron," she sighed, licking her lips and arching her back, "I want you. In me. So badly. All the time."

_Fucking hell_. I lost it and exploded all over the sheets. I came and came, and could not stop.

"Oh, Ronald," she chuckled at my bestial being. If her laughter and my coming had anything in common, that was just purely, non-stopping! She smacked her palm to her forehead, and wrapped her other arm around my neck, pulling me in with her. I eventually stopped just as the sheets absorbed my juices, sweat, cum, everything interesting about me.

"Bloody hell, we haven't had sex in ages, 'Mione," I whispered, smiling shyly. "Gimme a break!"

She ruffled my hair and kissed my sweaty forehead.

"Have anything left in you?" she teased, as she stroked my now even more limp and incredibly weary dick with the back of her hand. She drew soft circles on my balls, before giving them a light squeeze. Thank God, the sight of my flaccid dick was obscured by the blanket. Suddenly I tensed up, the tip felt damn sore and red all over, even I couldn't string words to express how lifeless my sex was.

"Well, that was embarrassing," I muttered as she continued playing with my genitals, as though hoping to revive them.

"Want me to blow you?" she asked in the most monotonous, deadpan tone that was totally inappropriate for this bloody predicament. Even in any kind of tone or delivery, the word 'blow' made my mouth water. I nodded earnestly, fearing another embarrassing hiccup, one that would involve more dirtying the sheets. "Right."

She threw back the blankets, revealing my fucking forlorn state of my cock and balls. She crawled to the foot of the bed, and smiled seductively. She motioned for me to come closer, and I obeyed like a schoolboy about to receive detention for playing with himself. I let my legs hang over the edge of the bed and rest my weight on my elbows.

She lowered her lips to my cock and kiss the tip. The view I was receiving, fuck, made my blood rush south. I was tempted to just thrust myself into her throat, but I resisted, with much agony and determination. She hummed at intervals which made her throat vibrate, taking my dick along with it. I would anticipate every murmur and we would moan in unison. She moaned my name and I grunted hers. I beg and plead for release but she always took me to the edge of the cliff and made a u-turn back. Her tongue, oh bless her, licked every inch of skin, including a particular veiny stretch of skin that ran from my pubes to the head. She dragged her tongue along my whole length and nibbled lightly at each leg.

One of my balls felt oddly cold. She had extracted one of her right hand give herself a good solid rub, right up in her warm, tight, dripping vagina. Dear Merlin, she was damn good at multi-tasking. Nice to know she was just as turned on as I was.

I sat up and squeezed my balls with my left hand before weaving in and out of her unruly hair. My whole dick was encased in her hot mouth, giving it a nice coating of warm saliva and pre-cum. It throbbed uncontrollably; I was about to come. Hermione knew it, for she abandoned all her licking and proceeded to sucking me off. Her cheeks pressed against my cock as she sucked in all the saliva mingled with my cum. I thought I must have said something dirty like this, "_Fuck, Hermione, take my balls, take my cock, suck it off, please, fuck me so hard. I'm coming, I'm coming, yes right there, so wet, God, you're so wet for me, fuck, so close, fuck it, that's it, right there 'Mione!_"

I came. Hard. Maybe all this months of not having sex accumulated this much cum. So much cum ejaculated that some trickled down my cock, even with Hermione swallowing it all up. She continued sucking every last bit of it, licking the tip earnestly, massaging my balls lovingly while I laid back down to catch my breath. Even the excess trickling down my thighs, she licked, slurped and drank. Finally, she dislodged herself from my manhood with a damp 'pop!' and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

With a satisfied grin, I grabbed her right hand and sucked her fingers clean. It tasted of her, her essence, her sweet, salty, vanilla, a dollop of cream, honey, milk, Hermione. She laid down on top of me, threw her arms out and kiss me deeply. I flipped us over and thrust into her tight core almost immediately. With her legs wrapped around my waist to urge me on, I pounded into her, making her squeal and pant at each thrust. Her hips ground against mine, desiring for deeper contact. My arm hooked onto the back of her knee and I practically slung her leg over my shoulder. With every thrust, I aimed for a different spot. Now that I had more access, my cock probed deeper into the tightness that needed some attention.

"_RON!_" she cried, gripping the bedsheets, "_More, please, Ron, right there!_"

All I could manage to utter was a loud hiss to soften her up. At the rate we were going at it, everyone at the Burrow would find out what we were up to.

"_Oh God, f-fuck, Ron, I'm so close, so close for you, so hard, please._"

My hips became more violent with her pleas. The bed creaked, the headboard steadily bumping against the wall, and the floorboards trembling. Her pussy was so wet, so warm, I couldn't even begin to describe how fucking insane I was feeling. I wanted to tear her apart, come with her so much, fuck her to pieces, fuck her senseless, fuck her so badly. I needed to come, and I could feel her walls already throbbing like a rapid heartbeat, waiting for me to come as well.

"_Ron, almost there, Ron, oh Ron, Ron, Ron, oh Ron, so close, Ron, RON!_"

She screamed my name and I groaned hers when we both came. I released everything I had into her pulsating, swollen pussy, I fit perfectly into her mould, hers and only her, so young and soft, mine hard and callous. I abandoned my inhibitions when I called out to her, opened myself to her, bared each dark, neglected corner, my insecurities to her. She was my everything, and I hers. She meant the world to me, and I was certain I meant the world to her. She fit my mould and I did hers. I was cleansed in her essence and hers in mine.

"Hermione," I panted, still thrusting, albeit more slowly and shallow, "you're fucking amazing."

"Ron," she breathed, wiping the sweat off my brow, "enough with the swearing, unless we're having sex."

"Aren't we not having sex?"

"You have a point there…"

"Fuck, you're still tight, and sexy as hell."

"And you're still extremely hard."

"Only because you're the most wonderful, brilliant woman I've ever been to bed with."

"Ron, I'm the _only_ woman you've been to bed with."

"Well, that's saying something."

"Trying to earn another late night tryst with me, aren't you?"

"I'll make it worth your time."

"Try me."

We must have had sex seven times that night, I came at least eleven times, she must have came about twelve times, thoroughly satisfied. We fucked till dawn, till the rain outside stopped, till we were both sweaty and naked, coated with our sexes, till our bodies were sore, till we couldn't possibly climax without breaking a limb. This was definitely the most intense nights we had since our youth. I remembered us being inseparable, emotional and of course, physically, she couldn't keep her hands off me, and I couldn't keep mine off her arse. Once we were beat, she cradled my head and I snuggled up to her.

Her body was warm, like she melted into mine as she held me. She smoothed my hair back and rest her cheek against my head.

"Ron," she said as the sun was just beginning to rise. "You're absolutely crazy."

"You too, 'Mione," I whispered, stroking her back.

"You know, it makes me feel young again," she sighed.

"I remember the first time we did it," I muttered, "bleeding nightmare."

"Oh right. Absolutely disastrous."

"God, we were so stupid."

"I was fine, you were just nervous, that's all."

"Nervous? You had a panic attack, call me nervous."

"It's harder for girls!"

"That's a double standard!"

"It was my first time, Ron."

"Mine too!"

"I'd always thought you had your first with Lavender, so naturally, I didn't think I was good - "

"I never did anything with Lavender, Hermione, you know that."

"You told me a million times, Ron."

"Then why - "

"Ron, I've loved you for so long, yet I never felt as though I was good enough for you - "

"What?"

" - until now."

I smiled and hugged her tightly, I didn't want to let her go, I didn't want the night to end. But the light was breaking, it scattered all over the ceiling, emitting a warm orange glow. The day was coming, all I could do was hold on to my love, for the sake of my life, I held on to her even more tightly. I knew if I'd loosen my grip, she would slip back, forever drowning, lost in the days of our youth.

As she drifted off to sleep, the orange glow of the morning sun shone on her face, illuminating every feature, worn, tired, weary. Lines streaked across her forehead, deepening when she frowned. Her hair, once a mane, now frazzled and greying. Yet, she looked beautiful, like she was young again, in my arms, supple, sweet, soft, smooth. I didn't care if her body was riddled with a bout of nasty wrinkles (my face had more); I wouldn't love her any less.

I finally slept, just as the sun rose higher in the sky. For all we knew, the world started to wake, without our presence. For all we cared, our neighbors were making breakfast for their kids, awaiting their owls to deliver the mail, reading the Daily Prophet. At least, for Hermione and I, sleep took over our bodies, dreams took us back to the realm of fantasies and desires. We braced ourselves for the future as we fell into a deep sleep, hoping the night would trickle through our fingers like sifting sand and fade into our memories.


End file.
